


Unholy Offspring

by hootowl



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fairytale Mashup, Gen, Nanowrimo2017, myth mashup
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:58:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hootowl/pseuds/hootowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was born during one of the worst thunderstorms Berk had seen in several generations. Many in the village believed that the gods were angry with us. They would not be wrong. / I'm going to be deleting chapters 2 and 3 and adding to chapter 1 in the near future. I've made some plot adjustments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lightning and Death

_I was born during one of the worst thunderstorms Berk had seen in several generations. Many in the village believed that the gods were angry with us. They would not be wrong. But perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself._

  _You see, this is Berk. It’s a miserable spit of land in the middle of an icy, unforgivable ocean. It snows nine months out of the year, and hails the rest. It’s a truly horrible place to live and I have yet to figure out what possessed my ancestors to settle here. In fact, I have yet to figure out why the_ current _inhabitants don’t take the next available ship away from this godsforsaken place._ I _would, if I could._

_Nine months before my birth, Stoick the Vast inherited the title of Chief of the Hairy Hooligans. In hopes to receive the blessings of the gods and have them find favor in his rule, he asked Thor to send a sacrifice. Thor sent a dragon, sleek and agile and black as coal, to be sacrificed. Dragons are not uncommon on Berk, but never had the Hairy Hooligans seen such a beast. Stoick decided to keep the dragon and instead sacrificed a ram._

_Angered by Stoick’s greed, the gods placed a curse upon Berk and all its inhabitants. The dragons turned against the Hooligans and the Dragon Wars began. But, because of Stoick’s greed, an additional curse was his to bear. His and his offspring’s. Until an appropriate sacrifice was made to appease the gods, their wrath would remain on Berk._

_As I was saying, I was born during one of the worst thunderstorms Berk had seen in several generations. Many in the village believed that the gods were angry with us. They would not be wrong. This is my story. The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself._

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Gothi always listened to signs. Signs were from the gods. Signs told you when life-altering events would occur—whether for good or for ill. During the many years of her life, she could only remember one storm that was as bad as the one that arrived that fateful night. It marked the end of a terrible man and his lust for blood. The gods had heard their prayers and the gods had answered.

The night she was called to the chief’s lodge started out like most nights in Winter. They were on the cusp of Devastating Winter. The weather was freezing and it made her bones creak, but snow had yet to fall and, despite the overcast sky, everything was calm. She arrived at the chief’s lodge in good time, considering her age, and was unsurprised to find Stoick anxiously pacing the floor, his brother, Spitelout, and friend, Gobber, lounging by the fire and drinking mead.

Thunder rumbled on the horizon and she hesitated, glancing at the dark skies. A storm was rolling in and the taste of lightning hung thick in the air. The wind picked up, bringing with it the scent of rain. Her bones ached. Phlegm and Ratface came hurrying up the hill, both bundled in thick furs.

“Not the best time for a baby to come; eh, Gothi?” Ratface greeted as she passed.

Phlegm sniffed, rolling her eyes. “A baby comes when it comes. There’s no accounting for convenience. I’m sure every mother wishes her child was born in Summer.”

Gothi smiled at the two younger women, casting one last glance at the sky before crossing the threshold. The baby would come, despite the signs. There was no stopping it. Stoick noticed them as soon as they arrived, moving straight to Gothi and helping her with her cloak. “Pains started hours ago, but Val insisted on waiting. They’ve been getting worse.”

“Aye,” Gothi allowed, gratefully taking her staff back and hobbling slowly after the younger women as they disappeared into the bedroom, “and they’ll get worse.”

A loud guffaw came from the other men and Spitelout raised his tankard. “Aye. Best ya can do is drink until it’s over.”

Her eyes moved over the men, pausing on Gobber. The burly blacksmith was rubbing at his amputated arm, grimacing. She changed course, stopping in front of Gobber and peering critically at his face. “You need something, boy?”

Thunder rumbled overhead and the first splatters of rain hit the roof. Gobber grinned. “Nah, it’s just the storm. It’s going to be a bad one.”

A gust of howling wind made the whole lodge creak. The men fell silent, apprehension spreading across their faces. A crack of thunder shook the heavy timbers of the roof and Gobber laughed uneasily, “Well, at least there’ll be no dragon attacks tonight.”

Phlegm poked her head out of the bedroom. “Gothi, we’re going to need you. She’s crowning.”

Gothi nodded, sending Gobber a significant look, before she shuffled into the bedroom. She was getting too old to be the acting midwife. Phlegm and Ratface were both gaining confidence in midwifery and soon she could pass the reigns onto them and she could rest her weary bones at home in front of the fire on these dreadful nights.

Valhallarama was delicately built. Unusual for a Viking of Berk. Most of the women on Berk were built much like most of the men, only not as hairy and perhaps a little shorter. Valhallarama was tall and thin. She didn’t have the coveted blonde hair that Dagmar Hofferson had, but her startlingly green eyes made up for whatever deficiencies she may have thought she possessed. Gothi had always had a soft-spot for the girl. She moved between the young mother’s legs, checking the babe’s progress. Valhallarama groaned and Gothi patted her knee. “It’s nearly over, my girl. Take a breath now.”

Ratface brought a bucket of nearly scalding water and Gothi quickly dunked her hands. Valhallarama’s breath was coming in sharp, pained pants, but she wasn’t panicking yet. That was good. Another contraction rippled across her stomach and prompted another groan. “Something’s not right.”

Gothi looked sharply at the birthing mother. The storm outside increased its intensity. Phlegm and Ratface exchanged knowing glances but quickly went back to their work when Gothi gave them a pointed look.

“Get ready to push, Valhallarama.”

“Save my baby.”

“You’ll both be fine. Now push.”

The labor was blessedly short compared to some of the births Gothi had attended over the many years. The rage of the storm made it seem longer than it truly was. With a cry, Valhallarama pushed the infant out and collapsed with gasping breaths. The thin, unhappy wail of the newborn nearly drowned out the horrified gasps of Phlegm and Ratface. Only years of delivering babies prevented old Gothi from dropping the infant in her surprise. Thunder crashed over the mountains, shaking the entire lodge with its might, rain hammered on the roof, and winds made the entire lodge creak and moan. A muttered prayer of “oh gods!” was silenced by a stern look from Gothi. Valhallarama stirred at her newborn’s cries, weakly lifting her head, searching for the infant.

Gothi cut and tied the umbilical cord and moved away to allow the other women to see to the last of the labor. She gazed at the infant, her eyes lingering on the smooth transition from human flesh to black, scaled hide and the small horns that lay against the side of its head where ears would normally sit. A tail curled close to the child’s body and tiny, bat-like wings were folded against the shoulder blades. In all her years, she’d never seen anything like it. Ratface was at her side, jarring her from her thoughts, her voice urgent, “Gothi, she’s losing too much blood.”

Gothi handed the child to the younger woman, frowning fiercely at her cringe. “See to the infant. Hide,” she hesitated for the briefest of moments, “hide _everything_.”

Gothi turned back to Valhallarama, pushing Phlegm out of the way, and working quickly to attempt to slow the bleed. Too much. She was going to lose her. A faint groan made her look up, glazed eyes staring. “My baby?”

The voice was weak, barely a whisper, and Gothi motioned for Phlegm to take over. There was nothing left to do but comfort the dying woman. She lifted the mewling newborn from the cradle Ratface had dropped the child in and carefully wrapped the new mother’s arms around her child.

“A boy, Valhallarama,” Gothi told her. “Healthy.”

“A son,” she whispered, drawing a shaking finger across his cheek. A smile, weak but radiant, bloomed across her face as she looked at the babe. Her expression turned sad for a moment. Gothi always wondered if people knew they were dying. Valhallarama studied the boy through half-lidded eyes, too weak to keep them open any longer, her voice barely audible when she murmured, “Mommy loves you, baby. Tell Stoick…”

Her voice failed her, but Gothi knew that last was for her. She passed a shaking hand over Valhallarama’s sweat dampened hair. “Good bye, child. Phlegm, bring Stoick here.”

The woman hesitated, casting an anxious glance at the blood soaked cloths. “But—”

Gothi gently took the baby from Valhallarama’s limp arms, speaking sternly, “Go. A man should be allowed to say goodbye to his wife while she’s still here.”

The young woman fled the room and Gothi turned to Ratface. “Bind her and cleanup what you can. Make her as presentable as possible.”

Vikings weren’t afraid of blood, but blood from a battle injury and blood from labor were two different things. Any man would panic. Ratface worked quickly and quietly, tucking soiled cloths into a bucket to clean later and carefully pulling a skin over Valhallarama. A moment later the doors burst open again and Stoick the Vast entered, blue eyes wild. “Val!”

He was at Valhallarama’s side in an instant, scooping up his wife’s hand with more gentleness than most in the tribe believed he possessed. Gothi moved out of the way, laying the baby down in the nearby cradle and shooing Phlegm and Ratface out of the room. There didn’t need to be any more witnesses to the man’s heartbreak.

Stoick knelt next to the bed, pressing Valhallarama’s hand to his cheek, whispering words too low for Gothi to hear. Thunder rolled overhead and Stoick let his head drop to the bed, shoulders slumping with defeat. Gothi approached then, placing a hand on his broad shoulder. “I’m sorry, Stoick. Valhallarama has left this world.”

Stoick sat back, carefully folding Valhallarama’s hands across her body before rising to his feet. He gazed down at his wife, taking in her peaceful features one last time. He bent, resting his lips against her forehead, failing to stifle the choked sob. Farewells complete, he stumbled to a nearby chair, sinking into it and burying his face in his hands. Gothi let him be, sure he would want some time to gather himself. “The child?”

“Is a boy,” Gothi said. “He is small, but healthy.”

He was silent, the crash of thunder and the drumming of rain the only sound that filled the lodge. Gothi waited patiently. It wouldn’t be the first time a mourning father blamed a child for the loss of his wife. Sometimes Gothi could find a home for the child if the father couldn’t raise it himself. Finally, Stoick took a steadying breath, rubbing vigorously at his face. “Let me see him.”

Gothi deposited the swaddled child in his father’s arms and took a step back to allow Stoick time to look over his son. Long minutes passed while the large man gazed down at the child. Finally, he moved, resting the child on his legs and pushing the blankets aside. The swaddling fell away and he gasped, raising a shaking finger to trace over the horns and soft hide of the tail. Gothi allowed him a moment to absorb the unusual sight before speaking, “He has wings.”

Stoick didn’t move the baby to check, simply nodding his understanding. The bedroom door opened and Gobber limped in, not at all put off by Ratface’s attempts to stop him. Gothi was actually surprised the man was still coherent with the amount of mead he’d been drinking earlier. Of course, the absence of Spitelout must mean that the other man was passed out in front of the fire. The blond blacksmith halted at Stoick’s side, gazing down at the baby. Surprise was the first expression that crossed Gobber’s face before it settled into thoughtfulness. “Night Fury, eh?”

Ratface halted several steps away, sneering at the child. “An abomination. The child should be left on the rocks.”

Gobber glanced up at her, frowning. “Aye. I can think of several I would’ve left on the rocks had I the choice.”

Ratface flushed an angry red. Stoick didn’t seem to hear either of them, his eyes transfixed on his son. The gods’ curse had been absolute. He’d lost his wife and his son would carry his father’s folly. Ratface sniffed, choosing to ignore Gobber, and addressing the grieving man instead, “Marry again, Stoick. In time you will have another child.”

Gobber looked aghast at her audacity and Gothi frowned her disapproval. It was well known that Ratface was a social climber, but to suggest such a thing to a man who just lost his wife—to a man whose wife’s body was not yet cold—was not only rude, but it was insulting.

“No.”

The word was definitive and left no room for argument. Gothi nodded her approval. There was no proof that the gods wouldn’t curse a second child, after all. A soft whimper made Stoick swaddle the boy with clumsy movements, cradling him protectively as he turned to face Ratface, defiance set in his features. Ratface’s mouth hung open. “ _No_? You can’t expect this… _creature_ to be your _heir_. The tribe won’t allow it!”

“I will not remarry,” Stoick declared and Ratface wilted. “I will not have another child. He is my son and he is the last I have of Val. There is still time before the issue of an heir becomes necessary and my brother’s wife just had a son.”

Lightning flashed through the cracks in the windows followed immediately by a near deafening crack of thunder. Gobber frowned. “You would give up your son’s birthright?”

Stoick turned to seriously regard his friend, shifting the child to a more comfortable position in his arms. “That is still a long way off. There is time. Maybe time to appease the gods.”

Ratface looked mutinous, but Gothi thumped her staff into the floor. “Enough, girl. The chief does not want you and your arguing will not change that. Go home.”

For a moment it looked like Ratface would refuse, but she turned and marched away, snatching her furs from the chair she’d tossed them earlier. The door in the main room opened, bringing a gust of wind and rain, before it slammed shut again. Phlegm appeared in the bedroom door, glancing over her shoulder. “Don’t know what’s got her britches in a knot.”

The infant wailed and Gothi shuffled forward, tugging on Stoick’s cloak and indicating the chair he’d abandoned earlier. “The child is hungry. I will see to the panada.”

Gothi hobbled her way out to the cook fire, just catching Gobber’s next question. “So, if you’re going to keep him, he’s got to have a name.”

She paused in the door, waiting. Stoick sighed, brushing the blankets back from his son’s head. Father looked at son, catching a small fist that waved in uncoordinated movements, tucking the hand back into the blankets.

“Hiccup,” he finally said.


	2. Wounds and Rag Dolls

It was the sound of a horn blast that woke him from a deep slumber, but the shouting propelled him out of the tangle of furs and blankets. Hiccup's feet hit the floor with a light thud, the small wings at his shoulder blades flexing to keep his balance. A sharp glance out his window proved that the glow he'd originally mistaken as sunrise was actually several houses in the village aflame. A dragon attack. In his brief four years of existence, this should have been nothing new. The dragons were as constant as the seasons. Spring had arrived with smoke and flame.

Clutching the frayed edges of a much loved blanket about his shoulders, Hiccup hurried down the stairs of his loft. Stoick stood in the open door of the lodge, bellowing out commands even as he pulled on clothes and armor over his sleepwear. The roar of a dragon shook the thick beams and nearly drowned out Stoick's swears. Hiccup quailed at the sound, fear making his voice quiver, "Pabbi?"

Stoick turned, surprised to find his son standing fearfully at the base of the stairs. He hesitated for the briefest of moments before he crouched in front of the small boy, pulling the blanket more securely around small shoulders and smoothing sleep rumpled auburn hair. His eyes lingered a moment on the horns barely hidden beneath his son's hair, guilt twisting his insides as he cursed the gods and himself. "Stay inside, son…unless the lodge catches on fire. I'll be back; probably."

With those words, Stoick hefted his hammer and strode out the door, closing it behind him with a final thud. The shouting and roars of dragons were muffled now and Hiccup crouched near the fire, its soothing warmth easing tense muscles. He would stay awake until his father returned from the fighting. If something happened, he had to hide in the relative safety of the forest. He anxiously watched the door, his nose twitching as it caught scent of fire and smoke and the previous night's dinner. He pulled his knees to his chest, twining arms and tail around his legs to make himself smaller. The lodge shook with the roars of dragons and heavy boulders hitting the ground nearby. He pressed his face against his knees, cringing at every pained scream from either dragon or Viking.

Time seemed to drag until shouts of a different nature approached the door. Hiccup straightened, listening intently to the shouts and shuffling. He slipped deeper into the shadows beside the fireplace just as the door crashed open. A group of Viking men entered the lodge, bearing the weight of another, their curses and swears rising in an incomprehensible din. Stoick followed behind, tossing his hammer away and shouting orders, "Put him on the table. Go fetch a healer."

Hiccup remained silent and still, drawing as little attention to himself as possible. The entire group was soot-stained, swearing, and more than one had a freely bleeding wound. The table was cleared with a sweep of an arm, crockery shattering on the stone floor, and the men deposited their burden on the table none too gently. A pained cry was quickly stifled though none in the group looked the least bit alarmed. Most of the Vikings returned to the village to help with the aftermath of the raid. Stoick moved to the table, casting aside his cloak and reaching for the tattered remains of a bloodied leg. "Gobber, let me have a look. We need to slow the bleeding."

Large hands removed charred cloth. Gobber swore and vowed vengeance on the dragon that injured him…as soon as Gobber found his war hammer, that is. He was ignored. Most of the village swore some kind of vendetta against the dragons at one point or another. Most in more colorful language than Gobber.

A Viking stood at Stoick's shoulder, observing lowly, "He can't keep it."

"I know," Stoick agreed grimly, wrapping the wound tightly before demanding, "Where's the healer?"

"She'll be here soon," a voice rumbled in reply. "There are others more seriously wounded than Gobber."

Stoick's expression darkened and he nodded. Gobber fell silent with a groan as someone tightened the tourniquet. Hiccup crept out of his hiding place, cautiously approaching the table and placing a small hand on Gobber's head. Feverish blue eyes turned to the young boy, focusing slowly. Hiccup patted the Viking's shoulder, his green eyes wide. "'Obber?"

"Aye, lad," Gobber wheezed. "No stories today."

Hiccup clutched anxiously at Gobber's shirt, turning for reassurance from his father. Stoick's expression hardened and he looked away. "Egil, you think your wife would be willing to watch Hiccup?"

A blond man shifted, glancing around Stoick and down at Hiccup. The boy cringed, fingers tightening in Gobber's sleeve. He didn't want to leave. The village was scary. The Vikings there looked at him with  _mean_  eyes. He hadn't done anything! He whimpered, but his father ignored him, distracted by a sudden stream of swears from Gobber. Maybe he could hide?

The man his father called Egil stepped around Stoick, clapping the broad man on the shoulder. "Aye, I'll take the lad to the missus. She'll keep an eye on him until this is over."

Stoick sighed, running his hand over his face and beard, and Egil scooped the boy up without a flinch, tucking tail and wings inside the worn blanket before heading out the door. Hiccup twisted, fearful green eyes finding his father, whimpering, "Pabbi?"

Stoick gave his son a firm, reassuring nod. "Go with Egil, boy."

For a heartbeat, Hiccup looked like he was going to protest but he hunched down in Egil's hold and placed a thumb in his mouth. Egil strode out the door and down the hill. The red tinge of dawn was on the horizon and already most of the village was up and about, putting out fires and taking stock of the damage. Several homes would have to be rebuilt and Hiccup could hear search parties spreading out to find what remained of the scattered livestock. The scent of smoke made his nose twitch.

Dagmar met them at the door, her worried expression fading into relief. "I heard there were injuries."

Her tone told that she was more worried about the fatalities. She stepped back to allow Egil to enter the house and absently reached for the bundle in her husband's arms as he spoke, "Gobber's going to lose his leg. I'm just here on Stoick's behalf. He needs a favor."

The blanket slipped and Dagmar's eyes dropped to take in the boy in her husband's arms. Her expression tightened and she jerked her hands away, brushing them briskly on her skirts as if they were dirty. Hiccup ducked under her eyes.

"A favor?" she asked faintly.

Egil nodded, shifting his hold on the boy and letting the blanket fall completely away. "Just until Stoick comes by."

A tense silence passed between husband and wife and Hiccup kept still, hoping to not draw attention to himself. Finally, Dagmar sighed gustily and stepped back to free the door. "Fine. Let me close the door before somebody sees."

The door closed behind them with a thud and she glanced at Hiccup before quickly looking away and motioning toward the fireplace. "There are some empty grain sacks. He can stay there until Stoick comes."

Egil put the boy down, ruffled Hiccup's hair with a gentle hand and a smile, and then turned to his wife, taking her arms and drawing her a distance away. Hiccup huddled in the sacks, keeping his arms and feet beneath him to spring away at the first sign of danger. The adults kept their voices low, but their whispers still reached him.

"I don't want it in my house, Egil."

Egil frowned, stepping closer to his wife and dropping his voice even lower. "It's just for a few hours, love. Gobber—"

"You've heard what happened the night he was born," Dagmar sounded half terrified. "They say he—"

"That's nonsense, Dagmar," Egil interrupted, sounding annoyed. "He's just a boy."

"He's  _not_  a boy," Dagmar snapped. Egil said nothing and his wife smoothed her hands over her stomach, resting them protectively over the barely visible bulge. "Never again, Egil. Not any more. We've got our children to think about. We've got to keep them safe."

Hiccup squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that if he wished hard enough he would open his eyes again and find himself safely tucked back in his bed and his father's snores shaking the rafters. He pulled his blanket over his head, pressing it against his ears to muffle the voices, and tried to make himself as small as he could.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Something tickled the fins on his tail and he gave it a sleepy flick before curling it around his body and tucking the tip under his cheek. A tickling sensation over his hair and ear, followed by a muffled giggle, jerked him out of his sleepy state and he scrambled away from the light touch only to crash into the wall at his back. For a panicked heartbeat, he didn't recognize where he was, then he remembered the horns, the screams, the blood—

"Hi!"

Hiccup jumped, suddenly aware that he wasn't alone. A little girl knelt next to his makeshift bed, watching him with undisguised interest. Hiccup could only stare back in return. Her blonde hair was in a riotous tangle about her head, one side flattened from sleep. Her grin was toothy and happy. "I thought you were going to sleep  _all day_. I'm only in bed this long when I'm sick."

She waited a beat but, when he said nothing in response, she pushed herself to her feet and trundled across the floor to pick up a rag doll. She returned to his corner with her doll in hand and, to his surprise, she plopped down next to him on the rough grain sacks. "I'm Astrid," she chirped, before thrusting her doll out at him. "This is Freyja. She is brave and strong and beautiful. Just like me!"

Hiccip stared at the doll until she gave it an impatient shake and commanded, "Say ' _hello_ ' and tell us your name, silly."

He glanced at her uncertainly and she rolled her eyes and set the doll in his lap. She folded her arms and gave her fiercest Viking scowl and he quickly turned his attention to the doll. It wasn't much to look at — it was a patchwork of cloth scraps clumsily sewn together and given lopsided features — but it was something to focus on instead of the girl. He watched her from the corner of his eye as he gingerly picked up the doll and held it in both hands. When she didn't scream and bat his hands away, he cleared his throat and shyly said, "Hello, Freyja…and Astrid. I'm Hiccup."

The girl beamed, scooting closer. "Snotlout said he's seen a Terrible Terror. I've never seen a dragon before. Mamma won't let me look out the window when they come to the village. And Fishlegs knows  _all about_  dragons. He can read! Did you know there was a  _Book of Dragons_? Fishlegs says there's all  _kinds_  of dragons, but then Snotlout and Tuffnut make fun of him and call him a nerd and then he cries and runs away so I never even get to  _hear_  about dragons. Are you a dragon?"

Hiccup's cheeks heated and he ducked his head, muttering, "No."

Her expression fell and she looked disappointed. He wondered if maybe she really  _did_ want to see a dragon. Hiccup didn't. He thought they sounded scary. And  _angry_. Astrid seemed to shrug off her disappointment, concerned with more pressing issues. "I've never seen you before and the dragons came last night and here you are! If you're not a dragon, what  _are_  you?"

Hiccup shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't know."

Her head tilted and bright blue eyes regarded him seriously. She looked him over, taking in every feature that made him different from her. A frown furrowed her brow for a moment before it cleared and she declared, "You must be a Viking, then, if you're not a dragon. There are only Vikings and dragons on Berk."

That seemed reasonable to Hiccup except… "What about the sheep and chickens and cows?"

She rolled her eyes and huffed at him. "Those are  _animals_ , silly."

A loud knocking at the door startled the two children and they immediately quieted. The door opened and they could hear Dagmar's testy greeting. "About time you got here, Stoick."

"Was Hiccup a problem, Dagmar?"

Hiccup perked up at his father's voice and a part of him relaxed. His father was here! He didn't leave him alone in this strange house forever.

"A problem!" Dagmar exclaimed, as if Stoick should've known Hiccup most certainly  _was_  a problem and he was foolish to think otherwise.

"Your home is still standing," Stoick remarked.

Dagmar grunted. "I do not want…that  _creature_  in my home any longer."

Hiccup cringed, ignoring the curious glance Astrid was giving him. Stoick cleared his throat, speaking with forced calm, "You never had a problem before."

There was a loud  _thump_  of something being forcefully set on the table. "I have a child and another on the way. I will not have them in danger any longer."

"Hiccup? A  _danger_?"

Stoick sounded incredulous. Dagmar slapped her hand on the table, exclaiming, "Yes! He's unnatural, Stoick. I know your wife—"

"Enough!"

Dagmar immediately fell silent. In the strained silence that followed, Hiccup drew his legs to his chest and hid his eyes against his knees. Hiccup knew the expression his father had every time Hiccup's mother was mentioned: sadness and regret. It wasn't that long ago that Hiccup started to wonder if maybe his father regretted  _him_. Stoick finally sighed and the children could hear his armor creak as the large man shifted. "I've heard enough. I will take my son and go."

A small hand fell on Hiccup's back between his wings and he cringed, ignoring the question in Astrid's tone when she said his name. A shadow fell over them and Astrid moved closer, asking, "Are you Hiccup's pabbi?"

"Astrid!"

The shriek was sudden and jarring and the small girl was ripped away from her place at Hiccup's side. Hiccup looked up to see Astrid struggling against her mother's grip, protesting loudly, "Ow! Mamma, let go!"

Her mother dragged her farther away, berating her child, "I told you to play  _outside_."

Astrid twisted, looking back at Hiccup. "He's crying, Mamma!"

Stoick shook his head as the mother-daughter pair continued arguing and scooped his son into his arms. Hiccup clung to his father's tunic, never wanting to let go. Stoick's hand passed over Hiccup's hair and rested lightly across his back. It was a comforting gesture and Hiccup snuffled back his tears. Vikings don't cry. And they certainly don't cry in front of  _girls_.

Stoick started out of the house, pausing at the door just long enough to rumble a "good day" before he left. The rest of the tension that lay across Hiccup's shoulders faded the further Stoick carried him from the house. They were halfway up the hill to the lodge when Astrid shouted after them, "Goodbye, Hiccup! Maybe we can play together again! You can keep Freyja; she'll protect you!"

Hiccup jerked back, glancing down at the arm he'd tucked against his chest and just realizing he'd kept Astrid's doll. Stoick chuckled lowly when Hiccup stretched to peer over his father's shoulder and gave Astrid a small wave. "Aye, she's a good lass."

Once inside the lodge, Stoick set Hiccup down and took careful evaluation of his son's health. Hiccup hugged the rag doll to his chest, gazing mournfully up at his father. Stoick smiled sadly, brushing back auburn hair and pressing his lips to a small forehead. "Well, I doubt that woman fed you so we'd best get ya some food; aye?"

Hiccup nodded vigorously and Stoick patted him fondly and stood. "Now, Gobber's going to be staying with us for a while. Don't be jumping on him."

Gobber spoke up from his hastily made bed by the fire, his voice sounding tired and strained, "Ah, the lad'll be fine. Come 'ere, boy, give a dying man some company."

Hiccup scrambled up onto the edge of the bed, eying Gobber in concern. The blacksmith looked pale and exhausted and Hiccup gnawed his lip. "You're not really dying, are you?"

"Not today, lad," Gobber reassured. "Though we'll have to have a proper send-off for me leg."

Gobber made a vague motion toward his leg and Hiccup followed the wave, fidgeting with the rag doll he still held. "Do you hate me, 'Obber?"

Gobber blinked, taken by surprise at this non sequitur before his eyes narrowed suspiciously, "Course not. Who put that fool notion in your head?"

"She called me unnatural," Hiccup supplied by way of answer.

"That fool Hofferson woman," Stoick said, pulling a chair up to the bedside and handing Hiccup a bowl. "Eat, then go play. Gobber needs his rest."

The men exchanged speaking glances while Hiccup juggled the doll and the bowl. Gobber waited until Hiccup had eaten several mouthfuls before nudging the doll and asking, "What's this?"

"Freyja. Astrid gave her to me."

Gobber's eyebrows rose. "Did she?"

Hiccup nodded, finishing off the rest of his meal and sliding off the bed only to pause as a thought came to him. "Does that mean she's my friend?"

"Seems like it."

Hiccup smiled widely, scurrying off to drop his empty bowl in a bucket for washing later. He returned to the bed to pick up the rag doll before hurrying up the stairs to his loft to put it somewhere safe. Gobber and Stoick listened to the boy thump across his room then watched him bounce down the stairs again and head out the back door, shouting something about fish. The door slammed shut and Gobber relaxed with a chuckle. "So, the Hofferson girl?"

"Aye."

Gobber hummed thoughtfully, stroking his mustache. Stoick's eyes narrowed at his friend a moment before comprehension dawned. "Oh, no. You might as well get that idea out of your head right now. It'll never work."

"Ye never know," Gobber argued. "We know nothin' about how dragons mate, after all."

"He ain't a dragon!" Stoick bellowed.

"He ain't a human neither."

Stoick said nothing for there was nothing left to say.


	3. Leaps and Bounds

The fish flashed like quicksilver beneath the gently rippling water. Hiccup watched them intently, making sure to keep close to the ground and his wings tightly folded against his back. The fish, he’d discovered, didn’t seem to notice him if he kept low and moved slowly. They also darted away faster than he could blink if they caught sight of his wings.

Fish were _fascinating_.

He scooted closer to the edge of the pond, holding his breath. It was early spring — well, what passes as spring on Berk — and the water was a still frigid temperature. Did fish get cold? He _thought_ they did. After all, _he_ got cold — especially during devastating winter — even if his father built up the lodge fire to a blazing height and wrapped him in several furs. There were days he just wanted to crawl _into_ the fire. The smithy was warmer. And Gobber told stories.

Hiccup watched the fish. Did fish _breathe_? Their gills fluttered on their sides. He’d seen the fish brought to the mead hall for meals. His father had lifted one by its gills and showed it to him. It wasn’t breathing then. It wasn’t moving. He thought that maybe fish breathed _water_ instead of _air._ He tried once. He’d been plucked out of the pond, sputtering and gasping, by his bellowing father and given a none too gentle slap on the back.

“What in Hel’s name you doing, boy! You ain’t a fish!”

So, he couldn’t breathe water. And he wasn’t a fish — not that he thought he _was_ one to start with — still, it was nice to know he wasn’t a fish.

“There you are!”

An undignified yelp escaped him and he scrambled to his feet only to trip over his own limbs. He landed in the pond with a _splash!_ The fish fled and Hiccup was now drenched and cold. Astrid stood on the bank, cringing apologetically. He’d been so absorbed in his thoughts and watching the fish he hadn’t heard her approach. She shifted anxiously on the bank as Hiccup hauled himself to his feet and sloshed back to shore. Astrid retreated a step to avoid being splashed.

“Oh,” she breathed faintly. “You’re all wet.”

“Thank you for pointing that out,” Hiccup said dryly, shrugging out of his fur vest and wringing out his tunic.

Astrid frowned at his tone. “You shouldn’t have gone swimming.”

“I _didn’t_ —”

He cut himself off sharply. It was no use arguing. At least it was a sunny day and the walk back home wasn’t too far. He glanced back at the pond. The fish were gone and probably wouldn’t venture to this side of the pond again for the rest of the day. With a defeated sigh, he squished past Astrid. He was already feeling the chill of the air.

“Where are you going?”

The girl followed after him, curiously eying the sway of his tail. He wanted to wrap it around himself and hide it from her eyes, but that always made him feel off-balance.

“Home,” he said shortly.

“Good idea,” she agreed, catching up to walk beside him and swinging the basket he hadn’t noticed her carrying. “You’d catch your death of a cold if you stayed wet.”

She caught his curious look and stuck her tongue at him, putting her nose in the air. “That’s what Mamma says every laugardagr.”

She nodded solemnly, skipping to his side and slipping her hand into his, gripping it tighter when he moved to pull away. Her eyes darted around at the trees, pulling him to a stop to look at an early flower. “Is this where you play?”

“Sometimes,” he mumbled.

“Why?”

Hiccup shrugged. There were several reasons. His father had told him he was safer out in the forest than in the village. And the Vikings always watched him with suspicious wariness. Aside from his father and Gobber, Astrid was the only other person he could remember that didn’t flinch from him. Besides, he _liked_ the forest. There were a lot of cool things to find and explore. Instead of answering, he asked, “Why are you here?”

“Mamma sent me out to find any early berries and look for mushrooms,” she said, swinging her basket. Her nose wrinkled. “ _I_ think she just wanted to go back to bed. Pabbi said he’d take care of her.”

“Is your mamma sick?” Hiccup asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Her face was red and she kept making these weird sounds whenever Pabbi touched her. I asked if she was all right, but then she gave me this basket and pushed me out the door. She said she’d be fine in a little while. Grown-ups are _weird_.”

Hiccup agreed, but privately he was beginning to think that girls were even weirder. She _wouldn’t let go of his hand!_ It had been several weeks since he’d first met the girl and he was still hard pressed to believe she actually sought his company. Other than her rambling questions when they first met and her curious looks, she didn’t seem to mind that he was different and Hiccup found himself enjoying her frequent company.

Stoick wasn’t in the lodge when they slipped quietly through the back door. Hiccup hurried up to his loft, stripping his wet clothing off and shivering in the cool air. He dressed quickly, crawling under his bed to find his old boots. He’d have to remember to put his wet clothes by the fire so they’d dry.

Hiccup pulled on his old boots, wiggling his toes experimentally. They were a little tight, but they’d serve until his normal boots dried out. The door creaked and Hiccup jumped, whirling around. No one except his father came into the loft and he’d would’ve heard the large man on the ladder.

“Is this your room?”

Astrid stood in the doorway gazing curiously around. Hiccup sighed. The girl seemed to be wherever she wasn’t wanted. She seemed to hear his uncharitable thoughts because she scowled at him and tossed her hair. “You were taking too long and I got bored. Is that your rock collection?”

She jabbed a finger toward the window ledge then crossed the room before he even nodded. He hovered behind her, but she didn’t touch his meticulously arranged stones. A cloud moved from in front of the sun and bright light spilled onto the ledge catching a few of the stones he’d broken open. Astrid gasped. “ _Ooooh_ , pretty!”

Hiccup moved closer, pleased that she liked his collection, and picked up the sparkling stone she was fixated on. She followed it and he smiled. “It’s a geode. I found it in a cave.”

“It’s so sparkly.”

“It’s the crystals,” he explained.

Astrid tilted the geode to catch the early spring sunshine that streamed through the window, watching it glint and flash off the crystals, while Hiccup watched anxiously.She carefully placed the geode back in its spot and picked up a shell to examine closely before putting it down and moving to the next object.

“Where do you find your rocks?” she asked.

Hiccup shuffled his feet, pulling nervously at his vest. “Around the island. The shells I found at the beach.”

Astrid gasped, demanding, “The sandy one?”

Berk only had one sandy beach and it was on the far side of the island. Some of the teens that managed to shirk their duties could be found there on nice days. Hiccup nodded and Astrid pouted, “Mamma and Pabbi won’t let me go to the beach. They say it’s too far.”

Her angry pout said enough of what she thought of the restrictions her parents placed on her.

“I’ll take you,” Hiccup offered, cheeks heating when she turned her big, blue eyes on him in surprise.

“You will?” He nodded and she threw her arms about him, squeezing hard. “Thank you! We need to go pick berries now.”

“Why?”

She huffed, frowning at him as if he was being stupid. “Mamma told me to.”

Hiccup shook his head. “Not that. You want _me_ to come with you?”

“You’re my friend,” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Hiccup’s heart swelled and a fluttery feeling filled his stomach. He had a friend! She pushed him out of the loft, grabbing his hand and dragging him out the back door.

It was still too early in spring for many of the berries, but Hiccup knew where to find the earliest ones and shyly guided her through the forest. They ended up eating more than they saved, giggling as the berry juices stained lips and mouths purple. The faint sound of Astrid’s name being called made Hiccup’s ears twitch and he turned to look toward the village. “Your mamma is calling for you.”

Astrid shoved the last of her berries into her mouth and grabbed her basket, frowning at the few berries that rolled across the bottom. “I better go, then.”

Hiccup showed her the quickest paths back to the village, pausing on the edge of the forest. She took several steps before she realized he wasn’t following and turned back. His tail twitched nervously and he swallowed, taking a quick glance at Astrid’s expectant expression and then swiftly looking away.

“Am I really your friend?” Hiccup asked faintly. He’d never had a friend.

Astrid closed the distance between them in two strides and, before he realized what she was doing, she punched him. Hard. He stumbled back a step in surprise, automatically rubbing at the bruised area. “Ow! Why would you do that?”

Blue eyes glittered fiercely and Hiccup kept a close eye on her fist in case she decided to punch him again. “ _That_ was for being a dummy.”

She glared at him a moment longer and then turned away with a toss of blonde hair and went to find her mother.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Hiccup was playing in the forest the next time Astrid found him. He’d climbed a tall tree and put Freyja in one of the branches overhead and then pretended he was Sigurd on a mighty quest with his sword Gram in hand. He was in the process of digging trenches so he could lie in wait for the greedy Fafnir when he heard a giggle. He startled violently, spinning toward the intrusion. Astrid was crouched on a fallen tree trunk, looking down at him. The stick Hiccup had been using as a sword lowered and he shuffled nervously. Her blonde head tilted curiously as her eyes took in his rumpled, dirty appearance and the shallow trench he’d created.

“Hello, Astrid,” Hiccup greeted shyly.

She blinked at him, then smiled. “Hello. What were you playing? Can I play too?”

“Oh…” Hiccup glanced up at the branch where Freyja sat and muttered, “I — I was fighting dragons.”

She looked around the small clearing Hiccup had been playing in, eyes brightening when she spotted the stick that Hiccup had discarded earlier in favor of the one he currently held. Dropping from the fallen tree, she hurried to it and hefted it, swinging it experimentally. Satisfied, she held up before her and declared, “This is a well-made axe. Pabbi says that when he likes what Gobber made.”

Hiccup nodded sagely. He’d heard his father make similar comments when Gobber would bring an axe or war hammer to the lodge. He often wondered what made a weapon so nice. Astrid clambered onto a rock so she could look down on him, pointing her stick and saying imperiously, “You have stolen Freyja’s Brísingamen! Give it to me so I can return it!”

When Hiccup only blinked at her, she glared fiercely, raised the stick above her head and pointed a finger at him. “I will avenge her!”

She threw herself off the rock with a cry and Hiccup instinctively ducked, bringing his own stick up to meet hers with a resounding _crack!_ Despite Astrid’s theatric display, she was not quite used to arial assaults and her leap turned into more of a fall. She crashed into Hiccup, sending them both into a tumble of arms, legs, and other appendages. They came to a rest at the base of a tree and Astrid rolled off of him, stumbling to her feet as Hiccup groaned, “Ow…”

She rubbed at an abrasion on her arm and frowned at her stick. It’d broken clean in half and the top half was somewhere among the tall grass. She tossed the stick aside, rolling her shoulder, and lifting her chin to say haughtily, “You are a worthy opponent.”

“I think you broke my wing,” Hiccup complained, sitting up and glancing over his shoulder and stretching the wing in question experimentally.

“Oh.” She breathed curiously and took a step closer. “Let me see.”

Hiccup’s head whipped around and he stared at her with wide, green eyes. “Why?”

Astrid shrugged. “Mamma always wants to see my booboos,” she explained. “She gives it a kiss to make it better.”

At his skeptical expression she thrust her arm out, showing him the red abrasion on her forearm from their fall. “Look!”

Hiccup looked. “I’m not kissing it,” he declared.

“I don’t want you to,” she returned just as hotly, pulling her arm back and hiding it from his immediate reach. “Boys are gross!”

“No they’re not!” he cried, insulted.

“Yes,” she said with conviction. “And dirty and smelly! It’s not _fair_!”

She stamped her foot to emphasize her point, though Hiccup wasn’t sure what her point had been. He didn’t think she, as a girl, wanted to be dirty and smelly — and Hiccup wasn’t either of those things and took great offense at the description — but he wasn’t sure what wasn’t fair. Hiccup glanced up at Freyja. The game had been rather short-lived. Astrid dropped to the ground next to him, her initial good humor swept away by what ever had prompted her minor tantrum.

“Mamma had a baby,” Astrid told him suddenly.

Hiccup turned away from examining a bird that bobbed nearby. Astrid was frowning, her brow deeply furrowed over troubled blue eyes.

“A baby?”

“It’s a boy. Pabbi was happy. He wouldn’t practice my axe with me and I’m not allowed to have it when he’s not watching.” She bit her lip and turned to look at him. “Do you think they like him more than me?”

The hurt and uncertainty in her eyes made him cringe. “No.”

“But mammas and pabbis always want boys.”

Not knowing how to make her feel better, Hiccup stood, dusting bits of dirt and grass from the seat of his trousers, and hesitated before he offered her a hand. She scowled and he almost pulled it away again, when she grabbed it. He helped her to her feet then quickly dropped her hand and stepped back to a safer distance. He scanned the forest for inspiration and finally offered, “Do you want to find treasure?”

Her eyes brightened with interest. “What kind of treasure?”

“I found dragon shells once,” he told her proudly.

“Where?” she demanded excitedly. “Was there a dragon? A _baby_ dragon?”

Hiccup shook his head quickly. “No. I didn’t see any.”

Momentary disappointment made her wilt, but she rallied quickly and snagged his hand, tugging it excitedly. “Show me.”

Hiccup spent most of the warm months of the year exploring the forests surrounding Berk. Stoick was often absorbed in his Chieftain duties and the forests always had something to occupy a young boy. Due to this, Hiccup knew the forest nearly as well, and in some cases better than, the hunters and was confident he could find the spot again. Astrid followed him eagerly. Her parents had restricted her play to the main streets of the village where other mothers and the elderly could keep an eye on the other rambunctious children that played together. The village children viewed the dark forest as a place of excitement and adventure, even more so when the adults herded them away from the borders with cautionary tales of trolls and dangerous beasts.

Hiccup led Astrid along a narrow game trail, clambering over rocks and fallen trees at some points. Eventually they reached a rocky outcropping that was protected from the worst of the wind and elements by a screen of firs growing closely together, their branches entwining and sweeping the ground. Hiccup held out his hand to signal for Astrid to wait and then he bent so his fingers touched the ground. He shuffled forward on all fours — rather like a dragon to Astrid’s eyes — peeking cautiously under the branches before sliding further beneath them with a rustle of needles. His tail twitched out of view and Astrid squatted, watching the swaying branches impatiently. She only had to wait a moment before she saw his dirt streaked face peek out at her, a thin scratch across his forehead from an errant twig.

“It’s safe,” he told her.

She scrambled under the low branches in a flash and he had to pull a wing out of the way before she accidentally crushed it. Before them, tucked in among a haphazard circle of rough stones, were thin broken shards of an egg that was clearly too large to belong to any bird and the scorch marks that blackened the stones were evidence enough, even for children. Astrid crouched next to him, observing the broken shell quietly and keeping curious fingers carefully tucked between her knees and her chest. Hiccup leaned forward and picked up a larger piece of shell. The shell was far thicker than a chicken or goose egg. The outside was rough and bumpy while the inside was smooth and iridescent; pink, green, yellow, and blue swirling through pale peach.

“It’s so pretty,” Astrid breathed, taking the shell fragment when Hiccup shyly offered it to her. She cradled it in her hands, tracing a finger across the colorful swirls. “Do you know what kind of dragon?” Hiccup shook his head and she shrugged. “Fishlegs knows all kinds of facts. Maybe he knows.”

“Fishlegs?” he asked curiously. He knew so little about the other children his age and his father didn’t seem inclined to speak of them.

Astrid nodded, explaining, “Fishlegs knows all about dragons. He can read, you know.”

Hiccup didn’t know, but didn’t say so. “What’s he like?”

“He’s a boy,” she said with a shrug, as if that explained everything. It probably did for Astrid. She relented a few moments later, continuing, “He’s smart and can remember everything. He’s kind of round…like a barrel. The other boys laugh at him. Can I keep this?”

Hiccup blinked, focusing on the shell she held, and nodded. A bright smile came to her lips and she straightened, saying gleefully, “The others are going to be _so_ jealous!”

They spent the remainder of the afternoon exploring the rocks and crevices nearby. Hiccup even showed her his various traps for game birds and some of the herbs and roots he gathered for Gothi. Astrid kept a constant stream of words going, talking about the villagers and the other children. When the shadows grew long, Hiccup knew Astrid, at least, would be missed. The clearing she had found him that morning was still watched over by Freyja when they returned. Hiccup paused under the tree where the doll was perched. When she realized he was no longer following her, she turned back curiously. “Are you going home?”

“No,” he muttered. His father wouldn’t be back at the lodge yet so supper would be later in the evening.

“Oh.” She hesitated, studying him curiously. He fidgeted under her intense, blue-eyed stare. Her gaze shifted over his shoulder and he tensed, drawing his wings tightly against his back. She didn’t seem to notice his discomfort. “Can I look at your wings?”

Hiccup looked at her uncertainly, taking in her earnest expression. Giving in, he twisted, extending one wing so she could look at it. She stepped closer, extending a finger and brushing the scaled skin. Hiccup twitched and then held still, watching her with wary eyes as she put her whole palm against the membrane and followed one of the fingers down to the outer edge of the wing. A slight smile cross her face and she looked up at him. “They’re warm. I thought they’d be cold.”

He could only nod though it didn’t appear she was expecting an answer. She stepped back a step, gently taking the tip of his wing and stretching it out until it was fully extended. He held it in place for her while she examined it in the mottled sunlight. “Do you think dragons are warm? Or do you think they’re more like snakes? Pabbi had to kill a snake once. It was eating the chicken eggs.”

“I’ve never touched a dragon,” Hiccup told her.

Her lips pursed in thought. “They breathe fire—”

“Snakes do not,” he argued, cringing when she glared at him for interrupting her.

“ _Dragons_ , idiot. I bet they’re warm from the fire.” She nodded decisively. “Can you fly?”

Hiccup extended both wings fully and gave them a gentle flap, but he shook his head. “They’re too small.”

“Oh,” she sighed in disappointment. “That would be neat. Then you could go _anywhere_ and you wouldn’t have to sail. I bet it’d be faster, too.”

The breeze shifted and brought the faint sounds of the village to them. Hiccup perked up, his ears twitching — much to Astrid’s amusement. Her giggle reminded him that he wasn’t alone and he ducked, peeking at her through the fringe of his hair. She grinned and turned with a happy wave. “Bye, Hiccup!”

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

The sky was painted in brilliant reds, yellows, and oranges when Hiccup crept through the back door of his house. The back door opened into a larder, built so that game wouldn’t have to be dragged through the living space and easy access to the smokehouse behind the lodge. A rough hewn table dominated the center of the larder, baskets of vegetables and jars of herbs atop it. The walls were lined on one side with pans and various cooking utensils and the other side hung the dried meats and drying herbs. On the far side of the larder was another door. That door let out into the Great Room and from there, the rest of the living quarters. Hiccup barred the back door for the night and wound his way around the larder and into the main lodge.

Stoick was leaning over a pot, glaring at the contents as if they’d committed some personal offense against him. The large man’s back was to him when Hiccup entered the Great Room, but he still seemed able to sense his son’s presence. The glare shifted from the pot to over his broad shoulder, softening slightly when they landed on the boy.

“Hiccup,” he grunted. He looked his son over from head to toe. The pot boiled over and Stoick quickly reached to pull it off the fire, thumping it onto the heavy oak table. Bowls clattered onto the table next to the pot and Stoick ladled food into them. Hiccup moved to the table and slid onto the bench. Stoick pushed the bowl in front of him. His father dropped heavily onto the bench across from him and pulled his own bowl closer, curling his fingers around the bottom. Hiccup sniffed at his dinner. It was an unappetizing glop of questionable substance.

“So,” Stoick began and then trailed off awkwardly, tapping his spoon against the side of his bowl. “You look like you got into bit of a scrape. Run into any trouble?”

Hiccup paused, looking up from his food to examine his father’s expression. Stoick’s gazed was piercing and Hiccup quickly looked away again, answering, “No.”

A skeptical sound in the back of the man’s throat brought Hiccup’s eyes up and Stoick cupped a large hand under his son’s chin, tilting Hiccup’s face into the firelight and eying him critically. “Those scratches on your face and the droop in your,” there was the briefest of hesitations before Stoick finished, “wing say otherwise.”

Hiccup’s wide eyes blinked up at his father and he caught the smallest of smiles on his father’s face. Stoick was not a demonstrative man, but Hiccup knew his father worried for him. He fidgeted and Stoick took his hand away, raising an eyebrow to show his interest. Hiccup shrugged. “Oh, Astrid and I were playing. We fell — she landed on top of me.”

“Astrid?” Stoick repeated curiously. “The Hofferson lass?”

Hiccup nodded, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. Stoick’s brow lowered in thought and there were several times he appeared on the verge of saying something, but would then changed his mind. Supper finished in silence and Stoick gathered their bowls to dump in the washtub and then returned to the table, drumming his fingers against the wood.

“You were out in the woods today?”

Hiccup nodded. “Yes.”

Stoick returned the nod, asking, “See any dragons?”

“No,” he told him before asking hopefully, “Do you think I can play with the other boys in the village?”

Stoick drew back, straightening and looking at him in surprise and no little sympathy. “No, I don’t think so, Hiccup. I’m sorry. It’s just not safe for you among the other vikings.”

His heart dropped and his wings wilted slightly. He swallowed thickly, whispering, “I wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

Stoick’s expression fell and he pushed back from the table, moving around to sit next to his son, lifting the boy into his lap and gathering him close. “I know, son. It’s not that. It’s difficult to explain, but the Hofferson girl has found you out in the woods before. She’s a good lass.”

His father’s arms were strong and gave him a sense of comfort and protection. Hiccup stretched his arms around his father’s chest as far as he could, sniffling sadly, “I just want to be normal.”

Stoick touched Hiccup’s hair, murmuring, “I know, son. I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, due to some confusion over on ff.net, I reworked this chapter to hopefully better show the passage of time. I went wild.


End file.
